


Barricade Dawn

by Opium_du_Peuple



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Canon Era, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rough Sex, Smut, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-21 17:11:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8253791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opium_du_Peuple/pseuds/Opium_du_Peuple
Summary: "That was all Jehan could ask for. One last cry of pleasure before the shouts of battle. What a delightful idea, to spend what could be his last night on earth amongst the stars."June 5th. Jehan knows exactly how he wants to spend what could be his last night, and it doesn't involve teary farewells. His lips have a lingering taste of goodbyes, unbeknown to Montparnasse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Damn Elise, back at it with the canon era smut!  
> There are some french little things in there but fear not! They're in italics and if you hover over them, you get the translation and a lil explanation! Because I've finally learnt how to use AO3 efficiently, apparently!
> 
> Have a good read!

_Dear Montparnasse._ No. _Montparnasse._ Too impersonal. _If you read this._ No, no, no.

The sharp end of Jehan's quill drowned the draft in ink, crossing out the words with vicious strength. It was all wrong. None of it sounded right. The muses had deserted him in his time of need.

Sat at his desk, Jehan stared blankly at the ink-soaked paper. It was of the utmost importance that he finished this letter quickly. Time was of the essence. His gaze drifted to the pocket watch he had laid next to the inkwell. Seconds were ticking away and he had not even started. Montparnasse would be there any minute now. Focus. _Focus._ _ **Focus**_ _._

His mind was buzzing. Too many thoughts were whirling in his head, too many beginnings, too many endings, too many concepts he longed to put into words, but ultimately couldn't. The ink-soaked paper was staring back at him, taunting him. _ Le vertige de la page blanche _. If he were to fall, this would be the very last piece of writing he'd sign. How many poets, how many authors could say they had recognised their last stroke of quill?

The thought sent an ice-cold shudder through him. He could not afford to think like this. In an attempt to shake off the sick feeling crawling under his skin, Jehan, put his quill back to the paper. The tip had dried. It was as sterile as his imagination.

There had been no progress made by the time Montparnasse let himself in. When he heard the latch, Jehan hastily balled up the draft and threw it into the cold stove, away from prying eyes. He had plans for the night, and none of them involved explanations and heartrending goodbyes. Not telling Montparnasse, he had decided a long time ago, was the best course of action. He knew his lover. He knew what he was capable of. Better have him unaware than have him do something stupid.

Montparnasse barely had the time to close the door that he found himself pinned against the wall. His pretentious top hat fell on the floor as a pair of hands cradled his jaw and pulled him down. Their lips met messily. Jehan swallowed Montparnasse's surprised gasp, pressing himself against him. It was only a matter of time before the kiss got them both breathless.

"When Gavroche said it was important, I didn't imagine―"

Montparnasse's smug smile fell with the first glance he cast on Jehan.

"Jehan, what is going on?"

The poet clenched his jaw. Things would never go smoothly tonight, would they? His face had never been good at keeping secrets. He bore his emotions on his cheeks and in his eyes for everyone to see. Still panting, Jehan gathered up his tangled thoughts under Montparnasse's concerned gaze.

"I've been thinking, ever since Lamarque's passing," he lied, though there was a smudge of truth to it, "about life and death and how short our time is. Forgive me, I know you have never been keen on philosophy but―"

The nauseous feeling sitting on his stomach submerged him at once. He was not used to lying, even less so to Montparnasse. It was a rule between them, to always say the unaltered truth. All the nights with Patron-Minette, all the wrong doings, all the bad deeds, Montparnasse had never lied. The deceitful innocent looked at the honest criminal. His throat tightened, only letting sincerity through:

"I'm scared..."

Shock flashed into Montparnasse's eyes, followed closely by understanding and compassion. Still wearing an apprehensive look, he took Jehan's cheeks into his hands and pressed a kiss against his forehead.

"What do you need?" he whispered.

"You."

They were less hasty the second time around. Jehan let Montparnasse set the pace, their lips brushing slowly, delicately, like a balm on Jehan's fears. Would he feel the ghost of that kiss, a day from now? Would he remember the warmth? The soft caress of Montparnasse's tongue? Jehan nuzzled up closer against his lover, his hands stroking his hips.

"I want to feel alive," he murmured, bringing their hips together to make his wishes clear. "Make me feel alive."

That was all he could ask for. One last cry of pleasure before the shouts of battle. What a delightful idea, to spend what could be his last night on earth amongst the stars. His heart was full of hope and optimism for the rebellion. The people would rise. The king would surrender his crown and the future would be brighter for it. But rebellions were a bloody business. More than one idealist had died for what they believed in. Why not him, too?

Montparnasse's lips became greedier against his, kissing him harder and harder, teeth fastening around Jehan's lower lip at times. The heart of the poet sang in his chest, crazed and full of life. His mouth became the vessel of his desire, buzzing from all the sparks running through him. He was forgetting himself, made giddy by the sensation. Bolder by the second, Montparnasse freed himself from the embrace of the wall and made Jehan take his place. His hands pinned above his head, Jehan was high on adrenaline. His restless chest was pushing against Montparnasse's with every laboured breath.

"How do you want it?" Montparnasse purred in his ear, the sultry tone stealing Jehan's breath away.

 _Make my blood rush through my veins,_ he thought. _Make roses bloom in my neck. Fill my throat with lush sounds and harvest them in turn. Make me forget my name and call yours. Sign your work with your fingerprints on my thighs._ Jehan wanted all of this and more, so much more. But at a loss to word his desire, he only managed:

"Memorable."

Jehan's wish was Montparnasse's command and, incidentally, his pleasure. Few could say they held that much power at the tip of their tongues. Their kisses were wild and eager, almost drawing blood. Montparnasse's hands let go of Jehan's wrists and favoured his waist instead, then his hips. His fingers trailed down further and settled on the poet's upper thighs. It was a signal Jehan knew well. Without a hint of hesitation, he wrapped his arms around Montparnasse's nape and was swept off his feet. It was the perfect balance between the hard bite of the wall and the warm hold of his lover. With Jehan's legs knotted around him, Montparnasse could hardly hide his blatant arousal. A cloud of sighs grew between them, fuelled by the friction. Fingers dug into Jehan's hips as Montparnasse thrust heatedly against him, a momentary fix to a demanding craving. Each knock of flesh against the wall inspired a new lewd sound, all avid and unrestrained.

It was not enough. Frustration took its inevitable toll. It was too many layers of clothing, too many cages of fine linen getting in the way. The air was thick between them, charged with lust and summer's infernal heat. Jehan's shirt stuck to his skin as Montparnasse guided him through his lodgings. A few candles were lighting the way, but it made no difference to him. The dandy would have known those walls blind. He had countless nights of stealthy breaking and entering under his belt.

They were not heading for the bed. Instead, Montparnasse settled Jehan on the writing desk, the very one he had been sat at just a minute ago. The ink pot and the pocket watch were still where he had left them. Looking over Montparnasse's shoulder, Jehan's gaze fell on the stove and the secret it held.

"Waiting for me?" Montparnasse asked, his sensuous voice snapping Jehan out of his musing.

He was smiling smugly at the watch, so profoundly unaware it hurt. The scene must have looked so different through Montparnasse' eyes. Simple, even. The only things at stake were Jehan's pleasure and peace of mind. Nothing more, nothing less. The sun would rise on the following day, and the day after that, and after... Ignorance was bliss.

Eager to wash off the wave of guilt flooding his chest, Jehan took Montparnasse's hand and slipped it between his legs. A shiver bolted through his inner thighs.

"Yes," assuming the same wanton tone.

Montparnasse didn't need much convincing. His fingers were already sliding up and down the bulge of Jehan's cock, his touch pressing against the tight fabric. His earlier thrusts had done wonders. Jehan surrendered to the warm feeling flaring in his abdomen and reclined on his elbows, letting Montparnasse steer his pleasure in any direction he liked. There would be time for guilt. There would be time for regrets. But now was a time for living.

A flurry of kisses struck his neck. The red roses Jehan wanted flowered on his skin, vibrant and thorny from Montparnasse's teeth. A whimper thundered in his throat. He was too hard and desperately wanting to endure the teasing anymore. Montparnasse would make him come in his britches like a feverish virgin if he let him have his way. He knew that from experience.

"More," he sighed.

The hand stroking his cock slowed its caresses and trailed up languidly. Montparnasse's lips were wet and flushed from marking Jehan's neck. In the darkness, their cherry red had almost turned black. His hand stopped when it met the buttons of Jehan's waistcoat.

"It's the one I gave you," he remarked, touching the fabric.

He looked pleasantly surprised, no doubt because his lover rarely wore clothes he approved of.

"I'm tempted to make you keep it," he added with a lurid smile.

Had it been any other night, Jehan would have played along and indulged in the fantasy. He would have enjoyed the sweet restraint of the cloth and the alluring heat of his soft cage, but not tonight.

"I want to feel you against me," he argued gently. "Take it off."

As to give weight to his words, his own fingers toyed with Montparnasse's trousers, brushing the buttons and his cock at once. The retaliation did not wait. The waistcoat came undone in a matter of seconds and slid down Jehan's arms. In exchange, Montparnasse's trousers loosened and fell nonchalantly along his hips. He was quite a sight with his prim and proper clothing and the sheer look of debauchery on his face. Both charming and terrible.

Imitating Jehan, Montparnasse unbound the cloth that was restraining his lover's waist. His hands plunged under the fabric, pulling the britches down and caressing his thighs. An arm looped around the other's nape, Jehan drew his hips up and sighed in relief as the garment left him. Underneath, his skin was searing hot and begging to be touched. The slightest caress would melt his flesh and brand it like a red-hot iron.

He was not longer the master of his lust-driven mind. Impulsively, his ankles dug into the back of Montparnasse's thighs, bringing him closer. The dandy scarcely had time to let out a gasp that Jehan's hand was already pulling his cock out of his undergarments. Montparnasse was warm in his hand, and deliciously hard. He let himself be handled for a while, his lower lip heavy of all the sounds he wouldn't let out. Not yet. Jehan knew him. A loud lover hid behind the impassive mask Montparnasse wore outside. Before the first moan could escape his mouth, he caught Jehan's wrist softly, putting a stop to his ministrations.

"I want to watch you touch yourself," Montparnasse whispered against his lips, wrapping Jehan's fingers around the poet's shaft.

Jehan swallowed thickly, blushing up to his ears. Aware of the intent gaze fixed on him, he slid his fingers up and down his sensitive cock, almost coyly. It was strangely intimate, to have Montparnasse take an eyeful of him like this. And arousing. It was something Jehan could play with. His touch grew more voluptuous and comfortable, working for his audience's viewing pleasure and his own. Montparnasse, who was busy stripping out of his clothes, was not losing a single second of it. Neither was Jehan. The more skin was revealed, the harder it was not to finish himself right there and then. The poor lighting was casting shadows across that body he knew and wanted so badly, like dark fingers caressing him. Soon, Montparnasse was wearing nothing but a wicked smile.

"Feeling alive yet?" he teased, leaning forward like a panther ready to pounce.

Jehan's needy whimper was his answer. He wanted more, his body was screaming for it. Montparnasse traded his indecent smirk for a genuine loving look. Jehan let go of himself, cutting the flow of pleasure short. His cheeks were burning so fiercely he thought he was breathing fire.

His shirt was nothing but a soaked rag when Montparnasse peeled it off him. It was kissing his skin so tightly they had the greatest difficulty to break off the embrace. Apart from the britches hanging awkwardly from his ankles, Jehan's nudity echoed Montparnasse's. Jehan saw the reflection of his own desire in that cherished body, the same breathless passion. Warm hands caressed his shoulders, massaging them somewhat.

"Where?" Montparnasse merely whispered.

"The bed."

It was a routine they knew well. Each step had been performed a thousand times with much enthusiasm, each knowing what the other liked best. There was comfort in entrusting someone with your pleasure. Jehan lay on his side while Montparnasse fetched the oil. A thousand and one times he had lain there, feeling his lover's body fitting perfectly against his own, Montparnasse's chest against his back. A drop of oil ran along his thigh. Slick fingers toyed with him, teasing him open. The light breeze of Montparnasse's breath was tickling his ear. Jehan let himself drift to the rhythm of the thrusts, echoing the touch with soft sighs. He wanted to be mindful of every second, of every thrill shaking him, of every kiss on his skin. He would keep it all in the locket of his heart.

The soft sighs died under more pressing sounds. Montparnasse was working him thoroughly, curling his fingers, dragging in and out of him in a pace that was far too slow for his liking. Yearning for more, Jehan rolled his hips eagerly, feeling the warm head of Montparnasse's cock rubbing against the small of his back. A husky chuckle blew on his nape.

"Is there anything you want, love?"

A helpless and frustrated moan crept out of Jehan's mouth. The balance of lust and innocence was eating him alive.

"Fuck me..." he whimpered, his gaze glassy from the consuming fever.

He caught a glimpse of a predatory smile before pleasure washed over him, snapping his eyes closed. Jehan could feel Montparnasse's fingers deeper, rougher. He threw his head back in a relieved cry, his fist balling on the sheets. Teeth found their way to his throat, ready to consume him, to pull him apart in the loveliest way possible. Jehan had once talked about merging their bodies and souls into one, but never had he craved it so desperately. If he couldn't stay by the man he loved, then perhaps he could leave something behind. Memories.

"Fuck me..." he repeated.

The plea was doleful to his ears, but God only knew how Montparnasse heard it. The only certainty Jehan had was that pleasure stopped abruptly, just for a second, the time for him to roll on his back and for Montparnasse to take him. It wasn't soft, but it was how he wanted it. They had all night for soft. Cautious at first, their movements fired up quickly, nails seeking flesh to intent and lips claiming every inch of skin they could reach. Firmly pinned against the mattress, Jehan held Montparnasse's gaze, everything in his being demanding more, always. Coarse moans answered each rough thrust. All the love sounds Montparnasse had held back came rushing out of his mouth, loud and clear. He looked gorgeously depraved with his tousled black curls and that carnal glint shining in his eyes. That wicked boy Jehan called his. Could he feel how tight his little bird was holding him? Could he taste the bittersweetness of goodbyes on his lips?

Captive of his own thoughts, Jehan rolled Montparnasse over to escape them. He wouldn't let anguish and fear take that moment away from him. With a hand on Montparnasse's chest, Jehan straightened his back and gave a wild roll of hips. The white-hot flash that followed was enough to empty his mind. All that remained was pleasure. A strong grip clutched his hips, kneading his flesh hard enough to bruise.

"Yes, just like that," Jehan panted, riding Montparnasse senseless. "Don't stop."

His hair was dancing in and out of his vision, flickering like a flame. Each raving push fed the fire, setting him alight. The bite of Montparnasse's fingers grounded his body but his mind was too far gone. There was no telling which bawdy moan was whose anymore. Everything was caught in a blur; it was a mess of limbs, of swollen lips and of devouring heat. Montparnasse arched his back avidly, desperate for more. His teeth were bared, his mouth split halfway between a wolfish grin and a loud whine. Jehan stared at that devilishly handsome being spread under him, his eyes brimming with passion. Montparnasse offered a stunning view, exposing himself raw, on the brink of climax. Almost blinded by pleasure, Jehan bent closer and cupped his lover's jaw, feasting on the sight.

"I l―love yo―you," he stuttered, his voice made shaky by the frantic pace. "I―I love y―you so―o much."

A strangled shout answered him. Strong arms captured Jehan's waist, holding him tight as Montparnasse rammed ruthlessly into him, over and over until Jehan unravelled against him, spent and breathless. _ La petite mort _ took him, and the poet lost himself in the embrace, welcoming the trance. Here, in the arms of the one he loved, with his body flushed and shivering, riddled with pleasure, Jean Prouvaire truly felt alive.

The feeling lingered until Montparnasse came hard inside him, throwing his head back onto the pillow, his lips parted into a silent cry. His body went pliant, melting heavily into the mattress, like a nonchalant cherub leant against a plump cloud. The smell of sweat and perfume was floating around them, making's Jehan head spin to a gentle waltz. He rolled to the side, freeing Montparnasse's heaving chest. The ceiling itself was twirling. For a rapturous minute, Jehan breathed in clarity, filling his lungs deep breath after deep breath. There was nothing more than Montparnasse and him, there, on that bed, bodies glistening in the candlelight. They would be there a minute from now. And the next. And the next.

The shrill voice of worry came rushing back into Jehan's skull as fast as it had disappeared, clawing at his peaceful cloud, tearing it to shreds. An instinctive spark of panic brought his drained body back to life.

A lazy smile stretched Montparnasse's lips as Jehan's fingers brushed over his softened cock.

"Again?" the dandy asked, half-serious, half-amused.

"Again. I want to be inside you."

 

* * *

 

Dawn had not yet ignited the sky when Jehan stirred out of sleep. He couldn't have slept more than a couple hours, snuggled up against Montparnasse. If Jehan was to believe the rhythmic tides of his chest, his lover was still deep into Morpheus' arms. Carefully, the poet untangled himself from the sheets, triggering a faint whimper as he shifted away from Montparnasse's grasp. Jehan slipped on his nightshirt and gazed at the blissful being he was leaving behind. Slumber cast a youthful glow over Montparnasse's face, smoothing the sharp edges of his cheekbones, easing his often tense features. The love of his life. That's what Montparnasse would be if Jehan drew his last breath today. He reached over, ready to comb the unruly mess of black hair, but stopped himself. There was still something that needed to be done first.

His gaze fell on the writing desk. The letter. As silently as he could, Jehan sat and cracked a match to light a candle. His mind was clearer now, though his demons weren't gone. They had merely been silenced, for a while at least. A while would be enough. Jehan took ink and paper, armed himself with a feather, and let his muse speak through him:

 

_Dear Montparnasse,_

_Chaton, mon amour.... You have so many names now I do not know which to choose. I do not doubt you have had many names, even throughout such a young life. May those remain close to your heart._  
_If you're reading this letter, I'm not longer here to tear it to shreds and toss it into the fire myself. You are free to dispose of it as you will, but I would love you to keep it. It is my last stroke of quill, you see. We, poets, are sentimental beings._

_Forgive me. Forgive me for leaving you too soon, if you can. Do not think me cruel or false. Know that I do not apologise for my choices. I'm standing by them in death, just as I stood by them in life. I would have died a thousand death for my people, for freedom and the future. But never doubt that I love you. I have loved you fiercely and tenderly, in body and in soul, a little more each day. I have spent every day loving you. No one, not even you, will take that away from me._

_Do not hate me for my omissions. Do not hate me for my white lies, as scarce as they have been. I beg you, if you think of me at all, only remember my heart beating under your palm and my smile blooming under your lips. You have made me happy, terribly happy. I can not help but think, though humbly, that I have made you happy, too. It is a comfort, to know I was the peaceful haven of a troubled life._

_It would be hypocrite of me to ask you not to grieve me. I would have grieved you if you had been the first one to leave, I know it. Do not let, however, your heart grow cold from my absence. You have such a warm smile, mon amour. To think so few people have seen it... I could not bear to see it turn to ice. Revenge is a sterile endeavour. You have had so much blood on your hands already, I do not wish to add to the pile. You are worth more than the darkness you dwell in. I hope that, at least, my sacrifice will offer you a better chance at living._

_You have been the love of my life, truly, but do not let me be the love of yours. We were so young, you and I, and it does not do well to dwell on the past. Love, marry, father if you do so wish. Life is such a fleeting thing, and I got to experience so little of it. Live the years that have been taken from me, if you wish to remember me well._

_I shall keep you in my thought and in my heart, from this second to the very last. There is more. There is so much more than I can say on paper. There are things that even words can not capture. My love for you is one of them._

_Yours, for as long as you will allow it,_

_Jean Prouvaire._

 

The ink had not dried that a sleepy moan rose from behind his back. Montparnasse was a light sleeper, not by nature, but by sheer force of habit. One does not become a criminal and expect to sleep soundly. Even the faint scratching of the quill had been enough to stir him awake. To say the truth, Jehan was surprised it took him this long.

"Jehan?" a hushed voice called.

Hearing the faint accent of alarm, Jehan turned around, looking for the familiar shadow across the dark room. Montparnasse was sat upright on the bed, his face bathed in confusion.

"Here, chaton," Jehan said softly.

As Montparnasse crawled out of bed, the poet put the letter away in a drawer, where no one could read it over his shoulder. Perhaps no one would have to read it, ever. Yes. A few days from now, he would come home and burn it, then he would lie by Montparnasse's side and rest with the knowledge that France was free. But one was never too careful.

A heavy kiss landed atop Jehan's head as Montparnasse stood behind him, his body weighed down by somnolence.

"What are you doing up?" the drowsy dandy asked, his hands rubbing Prouvaire's shoulders. "Little birds usually wait for sunrise to sing."

"Inspiration struck," Jehan answered softly, lifting one of Montparnasse's hands to kiss it.

"Any good?"

The poet let out a weak chuckle.

"Hopefully, yes."

His only reader would be the judge of that. Posthumously. If things didn't go as planned. Montparnasse caught him before his mind wandered to dark places. Warm lips graced his nape with a gentle touch, anchoring him in the moment.

"Come back to bed," Montparnasse whispered to his ear.

His words had the melody of a promise, of bodies intertwined in a sweet and carefree slumber. Jehan nodded slowly and followed him back under the covers, sparing one last fleeting look at the desk.

"I have to leave at dawn," he said as Montparnasse settled his head against his shoulder. He saw a frown creasing his lover's forehead.

"Why?"

"Lamarque's funeral," he merely explained, feeling his throat drying from the half-truth.

Montparnasse nodded and held Jehan tighter, his nose buried in the folds of his nightshirt. Criminals didn't show up to old generals' funerals, if not to pick a few pockets. With a bit of luck, Montparnasse would still be asleep by the time the rebellion sparked, or busy unburdening whichever house of all its gold.

"Wake me up before you go," Montparnasse said, his words muffled against the fabric.

"I will. I wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose I have to apologise for that ending and all that it implies? All the more so since I strongly think Montparnasse never found the letter. Anyway.  
> I'll never say it enough, but comments are always more than appreciated and give a writer a sense of purpose, so please, never hesitate to hit the comment section! It's truly amazing to wake up in the morning and see you guys' react! It makes my day everytime!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! If you want more Jehanparnasse (of the fluffy or heartbreaking variety) and Les Misérables in General, you can always visit me at [Just-French-Me-Up](http://just-french-me-up.tumblr.com/)


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